


WayHaught Twitter Fics

by Mischieftess



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Can you hear me now? Good girl!, F/F, a right cock-up, this pit crew really believes in lube, warning: professional driver on closed course
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:20:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22549960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mischieftess/pseuds/Mischieftess
Summary: You've read them as they're written on Twitter, now you'll find them here to read at your leisure! Fun, smutty, sweet, and gay, these WayHaught oneshots span the gamut of my imagination (and reveal the inner workings of my weird brain). Enjoy!Chapter 1: Zero to Sixty in Five FingersChapter 2: We go faster and faster and faster and fasterChapter 3: The angle of the dangleChapter 4: Cellular service (top)
Relationships: Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught
Comments: 40
Kudos: 327





	1. Zero to Sixty in Five Fingers

Nicole wonders why Waverly's jeans are so very tight. And she wonders what possessed her to stick her free hand down the front of them while driving at 120 km/hr. Was it the wet warmth at her fingertips, the hand clutching her wrist? Or the sounds pouring out of Waverly's mouth?

Nicole also wonders why on earth this is so hot. Maybe it's because she can't watch Waverly, can't see the familiar changes in those beloved eyes as she grinds against Nicole's cramped hand, because Nicole's eyes are all for the road.

"Nicole, god." The breathy voice beside her is all she can hear, road noise notwithstanding.

Nicole has to say something, has to carry forward the chain of the conversation that brought them here, the words crawling from her throat in a growl. "See? I told you that I could keep you awake." She curls her fingers, grinning out at the snowy fields flanking the road as they speed by.

Even through the panties against her skin, the scrape of denim is rubbing her knuckles raw. She's gonna be tender for a while. But as Waverly's hand runs up to her elbow, clutching the neatly rolled-up flannel cuff in fits and starts, it's totally worth it.

The sounds, the bucking hips against her hand, escalate as Nicole holds steady on the wheel. She doesn't want this to end. "Though," she ponders, slowing her movements, "if I let you come, you might actually fall asleep. We don't want that." Nicole backs off, acts as if she's going to pull out of Waverly's jeans.

"Don't you dare," Waverly hisses, digging her fingertips into Nicole's skin.

Nicole laughs, spreads, cupping Waverly in all the right places but one. "You're gonna ruin your jeans, Waves. And now you're awake, just like you asked."

Waverly's frustrated growl is music to Nicole's ears. "I thought you'd keep me awake with a story or, or _something_ , not this!" 

Nicole sees a gesticulation out of the corner of her eye and her grin widens to the point where it's beginning to hurt her cheeks. She drags one finger up the center and Waverly swears. "Are you complaining?" Another swipe gets her a gasp.

Waverly changes tactics, a shift as abrupt as it was inevitable. She leans close, kisses Nicole's shoulder, caresses her arm, grinds slowly into her hand. "Please? You've got me all worked up, Nicole."

Nicole scans through the windshield, then chances a momentary glance.

Waverly looks up at her from inches away. She looks... wrecked. Her lips are swollen, shiny. She bites the lower one as Nicole watches. Her blown pupils are half-covered by heavy lids, and she blinks once before Nicole scans down to see her arm disappearing into the split zipper.

Nicole can feel herself pulse at the sight, wetness growing into a trickle that is surely going to ruin her own briefs. She swallows and darts her eyes back to the road.

Waverly's breath stirs the fine hairs around her ear. "Please, Nicole," she murmurs, then tugs the lobe with her teeth, making the little hairs on the back of Nicole's neck dance.

Nicole relents. How could she not? She digs back in with relish, muscle memory guiding her fingertips in a circling dance that is only inhibited by the tightness of their location and the enthusiastic movements of the recipient.

"Fuck, baby," she mutters, her mouth unable to hold itself still when this is _happening_ right next to her, in the passenger seat of her truck. Waverly remains curled toward her, wrapped around her arm, her breathy sounds heating the flannel on Nicole's shoulder.

Nicole carefully monitors the pedal, watches the speedometer, keeps the wheel steady, watches the mirrors, watches the road, and carefully, so carefully, so thoroughly fucks her girl in the passenger seat of her old truck with one hand as they barrel down the freeway on hour 4 of a 6 hour trip.

Nicole can hear it, Waverly loses her voice in little breaks and hiccups when she gets close, it's as adorable as it is useful because she can figure out just when to say. "Waverly, that's it, grind into me just like that, I've got you, you can come for me baby, I want you to-"

The wheel almost jerks when Waverly comes, when Nicole's attention goes from split-seven-ways to a grueling, single-minded attempt to stay on the road while Waverly clamps her legs and body around one whole arm and bites down on Nicole's shoulder as she loves to do in the throes of orgasm.

Nicole manages to slow down from 25 km/hr over the speed limit to a mere 10, while Waverly shivers and unwinds and melts like a cat in the sun. Nicole realizes that her teeth are clenched and stretches her jaw. Waverly releases a huff of air barely flavored with sound.

And then, as Nicole attempts to extricate her squished fingers from their damp denim prison, Waverly intercepts them and slides them into her mouth. Nicole's groan at the hot, wet tongue grazing her skin earns her a stern, hard suck and a chuckle from Waverly.

"I've decided your punishment."

"Oh?" A flare of heat surges through Nicole. Waverly's punishments were always good.

"Yup. You get to come when we get home, not before." Waverly dries Nicole's fingers on her shirt, returning them to the wheel. "And I'll be making sure you're ready... for the next two hours. Make sure you don't take your hands off the wheel."


	2. We go faster and faster and faster and faster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A (exceedingly rare) continuation from the previous fic. Please find some dangerous driving enclosed, and enjoy!

Waverly has a way with her hands. Nicole doesn't mean this as a purely lascivious thing. Waverly's hands are always wonderful. But in this moment, panting, overheated, and absolutely focused on the road so they don't careen into the woods, Nicole NOTICES Waverly's hands.

At this very moment, much as she cursed Waverly's zipper just a short while before, Nicole curses the buttons on her flannel, the way they leave gaps for Waverly's clever, slender fingers to dart through and touch the skin underneath.

"What do you think, Nicole?" Waverly's mouth is dangerously close to the sensitive skin of Nicole's ear and neck, hot and flushed and aching for contact.

Nicole's fingers, chafed on the right and both clammier than she'd care to admit, grip the wheel until the leather creaks.

"When I get you home," Waverly's voice is amused, tongue curling around the words with glee, "I think I'll make you unload the car first. You must be so wet by now - the cold will seep into your pussy, remind you the whole time that I did this to you, that your arousal is mine."

Nicole intends to respond, something witty and smooth, and instead lets out a "Mmh!" of shock as Waverly's fingers find their way into her bra, swiping, catching the edge of her nipple and pinging lightning arousal down her spine. The engine revs and she blinks, shaking herself internally. _Focus, Nicole. Drive._

Waverly is right, of course, as she often is. Nicole is vaguely worried for the integrity of the leather bench seat of her old truck, how will it take hours of constant, aching, agonized arousal through blue denim?

Nicole's's _more_ than vaguely worried about how she'll take it.

Nicole edges her left knee an inch closer to the right, feeling how utterly swollen and ready she is.

Waverly tuts, kisses Nicole's jaw. "Be good," she cautions.

Nicole, helpless to resist, licks her lips and spreads her thighs open once more.

"That's my girl," the honeyed tongue at her ear purrs. "After you carry everything inside, showing off how big and strong you are, you'll come upstairs to your bedroom where I'll be waiting for you."

Just for a moment, Nicole can picture it through the haze of concentration on driving. Then, a warm, wet mouth engulfs the lobe of her ear and there's nothing but the drive, _stay on the **road,**_ and the teeth dragging along her ear, the hot filth of Waverly's moan, the fingers pulling her flannel out of her pants.

"I love driving you crazy, Nicole."

Fingertips skate along her back as Waverly nestles closer, her thigh brushing Nicole's. She doesn't jostle it, doesn't interfere with the driving in any way but the most infuriating distraction, and Nicole had **really** asked for it.

"Oh?" Nicole asks, her breaths unruly, unsubtly aroused.

"Mmm." Waverly's hands are mirroring each other on stomach and spine, drawing circles and triangles and other geometries completely incomprehensible to Nicole's addled mind. "I never know if it'll turn you into a lion or a lamb."

Waverly's voice is dark, hungry, and her fingertips claw into Nicole's soft skin. "I love it when you tear into me like a predator, hold me down and pound into me until I'm begging and don't know whether it's for you to stop or keep going."

icole shifts, remembering the last time Waverly's teasing sent her roaring into the bedroom. The beautiful bruises she'd left had fueled Waverly's libido for days, leading her to lure Nicole into the bedroom, to the couch, and even to one memorable siesta on the kitchen table.

"But," Waverly's grip relaxes and Nicole groans as her hands resume their stroking, langorous exploration. "Sometimes you'll do anything for me, anything, so wound up that I can order you to kneel in front of me, open your mouth, and lick me while I grind against your tongue."

"Fuck," Nicole mutters. Her fingers are bending the wheel, her knuckles white with the strain, her left foot twitching with the urge to roll her hips, to seek some salve for the ache building between her thighs.

There's something about Waverly, her sweet, open, kind Waverly, purring decadent filth and desire into her ears that is pushing all Nicole's buttons in **just** the right way.

Waverly laughs. "Yes, fuck, Nicole. That's the whole, entire," her lips wrap around the word, "point."

And then, Waverly does the worst thing yet. She withdraws her hands, smooches Nicole's cheek, and slides away on the bench seat.

Nicole makes a sound - half disappointment, half relief. Maybe she'll stay on the road for the next - she glances at the clock - one and a half hours after all.

"I'll let you get back to the driving, baby."

_Oh no,_ Nicole thinks. That sultry tone bears ill for Nicole's concentration. She glances over just in time to see Waverly slide those clever fingers of hers into her own pants with a purely evil smirk.

"I have some things to _think_ about. Mind the road, Nicole, while I," Waverly's smile is downright vicious, "make some plans."


	3. The angle of the dangle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicole is pulled aside at the TSA checkpoint for some groin irregularities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my first twitter fics!

Nicole adjusted her pants, subtly palming the length of her stash as the slow line wound its way between the barriers toward the conveyor belts. No one will know how to handle a woman with some dangle. They'd need a woman to pat down the top and a man for the bottom. It was foolproof.

And, if a drug-sniffing dog stuck its nose in her crotch cause it smelled what she was packing, well. Sniffing crotches is what dogs do, right? Nicole smirked to herself.

Nicole edged her bag closer to the security desk with one foot, casually (she hoped) scanning the TSA agents. They looked…bored. Good, this was good. She saw someone in front of her taking their belt off. A couple other people followed suit.

It was a good a time as any. Nicole undid her belt, pulling it out through her belt loops with the _thwap thwap thwap_ of leather. She tucked it inside her roller bag, nudging it up another couple feet before she bent over to loosen her boots.

Finally, she was almost at the first TSA checkpoint. The agent checking IDs looked tired, bored, but professional as he scanned each ID, asked a basic question, and then passed the passenger along to the conveyor belts. There was a family there, then a single person, then Nicole.

"Hi," Nicole said, and handed over her ID and ticket. The US driver's license was new but didn't look it, she'd spent the night before putting it in her wallet, taking it out, putting it in, taking it out ad nauseam while she reviewed her fake background.

The agent looked it over, looked at Nicole, then looked back at the ticket. "Boston, huh?" he asked.

"Yeah," Nicole said, stopping herself from explaining further. Criminals explain, regular citizens just assume they'll pass muster.

"All right, go ahead," the agent said, and scribbled on her ticket before he handed it back and looked behind her. "Next."

Nicole smothered her smirk and pulled her bag along behind her, heading for the shortest line. There were two, appropriate for this small, sleepy airport.

Nicole toed off her shoes as she picked up a couple of bins, dumping her footwear in one as she lifted her bag onto the rollers and unzipped the top. She hauled out her laptop and slid it into the other bin, then emptied her pockets into the bin with her boots.

Nicole had a carefully-assembled, appropriate level of pocket stuff: her wallet and a phone, plus some change that she plinked into the bin without a care in the world. She scooted her stuff down until the conveyor took over, then watched it until it entered the X-Ray scanner. Just like a normal person would.

Then, Nicole lifted her head and went to the scanner. That’s when she spotted the first signs of trouble.

 _Shit,_ she thought as she saw the drug dog on the other side of security, a German Shepherd with ears and tail professionally quirked just the slightest bit upwards as it looked up at its handler. _Shiiiiit. No. No, it'll be fine. Shit. No. Concentrate, it's fine. It's just a dog, and the handler’s probably another one of these TSA goons. Not a problem.._

Nicole was only the second in line. She concentrated on tracking her bags going through the machine, then looked up to meet the eyes of the regular TSA agent on the other side as the person before her stepped out of the scanner.

"Step on the footprints and put your hands above your head like in the picture," the agent said, and Nicole tried not to interpret it as foreshadowing her imminent discovery and arrest. She resisted the ever-present urge to tell a joke and stepped in the yellow bootprints with her socked feet.

The machine whirred and the scanner arc came down, then up.

"Step out of the machine," the agent said, and Nicole turned and walked forward. Then, the agent held up a hand. "Wait." Nicole waited.

The dog, mere feet away, threw up its head and turned toward Nicole. It pulled on the lead, and the agent holding its leash began to turn toward Nicole. _Shit!_ Nicole thought, seeing the bright yellow DEA lettering on its working jacket. Then the machine beeped. _Oh fuck._

The TSA agent, staring at the screen that Nicole couldn't see, spoke. "Ma'am, I need to do a patdown. We’ll get you a female agent, er, unless-" He looked at the screen again, puzzled, then up to Nicole. “ _Do_ you want a female agent, um, ma’am?”

This was the plan, confuse and distract the TSA until they really just let Nicole go through out of dismay. It was actually happening! Nicole cleared her throat, ready to ask why he was asking her that way.

Then, someone else interrupted, a woman, more specifically the agent with the dog. "I'll take this one, if you don't mind."

Nicole’s mouth went dry with panic.

"Sure," the TSA guy said, turning to look at the person - a DEA Special Agent. Nicole noted the rank with an internal groan.

"Wait for your possessions, then follow me," said the DEA Special Agent. The dog, who was sniffing at Nicole's ankle, sniffed up her leg, to her knee, then predictably shoved her nose in Nicole's crotch and SAT DOWN. The agent snapped her fingers and the dog returned to her side, but there was a quirk to her lips.

 _Fuuuuuuuck,_ Nicole thought.

Nicole grabbed her bag, slid the laptop back inside, and sighed long-sufferingly as she grabbed her shoes and loose change.

"Um, can I put my shoes back on?" she asked.

"No, ma'am," said the DEA agent. Her tone was professional and curt. "The room is right over here."

Nicole finally let herself look, really look, at the tiny woman who was going to find out what secrets she'd carried into the airport that day. The agent was pretty, damn pretty, with hazel eyes and a professional bun accenting her uniform. Though, those hazel eyes were hard and calculating at the moment, and the dog’s eyes were eager and curious. Not a great combination for Nicole’s peace of mind.

Nicole carried her shoes as she followed the Special Agent and her damn dog, who kept sniffing at Nicole.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck,_ she thought, but there was no getting away, not with the whole damn TSA between her and freedom. Time for plan D.

When they got into the room, the agent shut the door, leaving Nicole alone with her and her dog. The woman looked at her dog and said what sounded like, "Heer."

The dog went to the woman and sat, staring adoringly at her face. For her part, the woman looked at Nicole, and her eyes were so serious. She was Not Fucking Around, and Nicole was kinda into it?

"I am DEA Special Agent Earp. My dog has identified the presence of contraband. I’m going to need to perform a patdown and search your belongings."

Nicole weighed her options. She could consent to a search immediately, with all the potential discovery that entailed. Or she could follow her original plan of bluster and intimidation and perhaps still make it through with all of her assets intact.

Nicole went with the latter option. "Wait, wait, what? Your dog stuck her nose in my crotch, that’s what dogs do! How does that give you the right to search through my stuff?"

The woman's - Special Agent Earp's - brows lowered at Nicole's statement. "My well-trained, drug-detecting dog signaled to me that you're carrying illicit contraband. Additionally, you came up on the scan with…groin…irregularities." Her words slowed at the end, like they were difficult to get out. But then SA Earp visibly shook off the awkwardness of that last statement and said, "Are you going to cooperate, or should I arrest you first?"

Nicole identified that statement as maybe 25% bluster, not enough to play with. "Ok, ok," she said, putting her hands out in a placating gesture as she extemporized. "Look, I admit I packed today, just to have a little fun with the scanner that can see under my clothes."

SA Earp's eyes narrowed. "You…packed." She didn't inflect it like a question, but the curiosity was obvious in her tone.

Nicole rose to the challenge. "You know, I added a little…something. I really didn't mean to annoy your dog, I thought it'd just be funny if they saw something a little extra on the screen, you know?"

"A little extra." The SA's tone wasn't amused. Nicole's hopes plummeted. This woman didn't have a _shred_ of humor, more's the pity. Nicole sighed. Better to just give up the game – the superficial side of it, at least – at this point.

"I strapped on, ok? I'm sorry, I just hate that you can see under our clothes with those damn machines, and wanted to stick it to –" she saw the irritation on the woman's face and stopped talking.

“So, let me get this straight," SA Earp said. Nicole smothered the urge to snicker at the word straight, even though it would match her character at the moment. "You ARE wearing a prosthetic penis at the moment, but not for the purpose of matching your gender identity?"

Nicole hesitated. Shit, that was the whole goddamn plan, wasn't it? She was supposed to get two dumbass TSA agents trying to figure out how to do this search because she had tits and a dick, and she just had to fuck it over by trying to explain to the pretty agent. Fuck.

"Um," Nicole said, "That is, I, I…" - _have already admitted that I'm just trying to fuck over the TSA, fuck_ \- "I identify as female. I didn't think this prank through, I guess." She shrugged, conveying her real embarrassment at her slip.

SA Earp looked down her nose at Nicole, which for someone so tiny was an impressive feat. "Ma'am, I agree with that. First, I and Calamity will inspect your bags, then I will perform a patdown and Calamity will check you again."

"I…sure. Go ahead." Nicole smothered the interest she had for this diminutive, beautiful woman touching her – it was unprofessional to be interested at this very dangerous moment, at the very least – and gestured to her bag, then crossed her fingers and prayed for a miracle. The bag was clean, but it had some clove oil dripped in the creases, perhaps enough to confuse the dog’s sensitive nose.

SA Earp looked at her dog and tapped the bag, and the German Shepherd bounced forward to sniff eagerly at the zipper.

Nicole watched, curious, then asked, "Wait, she's still a puppy?" She reached out a hand.

"Ma'am, don't interfere with my dog," came the flat answer, and Nicole put her hands up again.

"Of course, sorry, my bad." Nicole backed off and watched as the dog sniffed, sniffed, sniffed, then looked at SA Earp again.

The agent said, "Siitz." And the dog, Calamity, sat.

SA Earp pulled on a pair of gloves and unzipped the bag, picking up Nicole's laptop and laying it on the table. She unzipped the laptop cover, opened the lid, and saw the locked login screen. "What’s the password?" SA Earp asked.

Nicole cleared her throat. "Not without a warrant, no" she said, and held her ground as those clear, intelligent eyes bored back into hers. God, she's got quite a lot behind her glares, doesn't she?

“We'll see if that's necessary," the SA said, unnecessarily ominously, as she shut the laptop's lid again and slid it back into its case. Then she perused the remainder of Nicole's bag with the same professional attention she'd shown to Nicole's laptop. When SA Earp got to the bottom of the bag, she felt around the edges and then had her dog sniff again, with the same result as before.

Nicole tried not to fidget. She wasn't looking forward to the patdown, even though she'd made it her backup plan. SA Earp and Calamity were making her nervous with their mutual, calm confidence and professionalism, a far cry from the TSA agents she’d anticipated.

"All right, ma'am, I'm going to run the back of my hand along your clothes, a pat-down," the determined young agent said. "But, since you have already admitted to carrying an,” she struggled for a second, “optional… accessory on your person, you will also be asked to remove it for inspection."

Nicole repressed the urge to swallow or lick her lips. "Fine," she said, and her voice wasn't odd or high, she could almost guarantee it. Almost.

"And I will observe you taking it off." SA Earp didn't wince, exactly, but the expression on her face was not happy.

Nicole could see the nerves on SA Earp's face, now, but it didn't make her happy. She was making this agent's life a lot harder, and for what? A little cock? Uh. A little coke? Both?

(it wasn't a little cock)

Nicole really almost regretted her life choices in this moment for making this woman's life more unpleasant. But she had a job to do, and this was the best plan she had. A lot was riding on her success.

"Understood," Nicole said. "Uh, do you want me to-" she gestured at the front of her pants.

"No!" SA Earp put out a hand, "Um, no, not until I–" She stopped, obviously having a worrying thought and paused, stilled herself, and looked Nicole in the eye. "Ma'am, would you swear to me that you're not concealing a weapon? In your pants, I mean."

Nicole looked down at the bulge under her zipper, then back up at SA Earp. "Uh, a weapon? What do you –" Nicole stopped, seeing SA Earp holding herself stiffly, her hand cocked awkwardly by her hip. The dog, too, had stiffened and was eyeing Nicole with deadly intent.

Everyone is stiff, how awkward. Nicole almost laughed at the thought. Fuck, no, she was a professional!

"Uh, no!" Nicole waved her hands minutely, trying not to worsen the situation. "It's not, it doesn't, it's made of silicone! Not dangerous to, uh, anyone who doesn't consent to, uh, sex? I mean, I'm normally smoother than this I swear, but it won't hurt you or, uh, anybody!!"

SA Earp's face creased, then smoothed, then twisted again before flattening into what Nicole now recognized as her professional mask. Nicole realized belatedly that she was trying not to laugh. Maybe there was a sense of humor in there after all, not that it would save Nicole’s bacon. The agent wrestled herself back into control and cleared her throat.

"Very well, then, I will inspect your… apparatus," and there was another struggle to control her expression, "after the regular patdown. Please hold your hands away from your body." Earp approached. Her dog followed a few steps, until SA Earp told her to sit again.

Nicole kept her eyes exclusively on the dog as the backs of those small, professional hands did the in-depth patdown she'd prepared for. Her back, her arms, her armpits, her sides, her front, between her breasts – all of these spaces and more were briefly and _very professionally_ caressed.

Nicole carefully didn't move, at all, during the entire procedure. Nicole did not have impure thoughts, did not fantasize, and certainly did not imagine these touches under different, nicer circumstances. Not. At. All.

Then the backs of those hands grazed along Nicole's bulge and she held completely still, determinedly looking away from the tiny woman bending over to run her hands over– _Yeah, no, think of something else, don't be gross!_

Then the SA stepped back and cleared her throat. "Ma'am, please show me–" she paused, obviously trying to think of how to ask professionally, then continued, "–the item you described to me before."

Nicole suppressed the need to make another wildly inappropriate joke, something about girls asking her to show them the cock and obeyed. Moving slowly, she unbuttoned her top button and twisted, popping open all the buttons along her fly. She peeled her jeans down, shimmying a little, till they fell to her calves, then ankles. She stepped out, then put her hands to the waistband of her boxer briefs.

The bulge of Nicole's poorly-considered, highly-illegal burden was still where she'd put it hours ago, tucked down and rubbing against her left thigh. Nicole licked her lips. "Um, Officer, just so you know, I'm wearing underwear under the harness, so I'll just take these off?"

"Ok," the SA squeaked, and Nicole looked up to see the officer fixated on the lump in Nicole's underwear. "And," Earp's voice firmed as she looked up to meet Nicole's eyes, "It's Special Agent, ma'am."

"Sorry, Special Agent," Nicole tried to smile, "my mistake, I'm just a little nervous. I don't normally, um, do a strip-te–" At Earp's frown, Nicole reconsidered her phrasing. No sense of humor, remember?!

"Um. I don't usually take off things. Like this." Nicole gestured helplessly at her boxers. Then, with one look at the Special Agent's semi-horrified, semi-fascinated expression, Nicole took a breath, hooked her thumbs into her waistband and pulled.

Nicole desperately tried to ignore the little intake of breath she heard from SA Earp, but she'd honestly expected it and couldn't entirely block it out. Her… apparatus WAS breathtaking. She'd specifically chosen it to be breathtaking, in every way.

Nicole's ex had a 3-D printer. Nicole designed the mold on AutoCAD, then she begged and pleaded for a favor from her ex, who then been forced to watch in fascinated horror as the mold for a 8-inch wavy monstrosity was printed in her lab. Shae wasn’t speaking to Nicole again, which was more than fair.

Nicole had then had the bright idea, at 3 am no less, to make it really, really gay. She had all the colors, anyway, and it’d be such a wasted opportunity to just go with a boring single color.

So it’s reasonable to expect a gasp from whoever was watching when her enormous, rainbow, cast-silicone dick flopped out of her boxers and stood, bobbing slightly, in the cool exam-room air.

SA Earp recovered admirably. "Please remove it, ma'am." Her voice only wavered on the ‘Please.’

Nicole gritted her teeth and unstrapped her harness from her hips, loosening it enough to slide down her thighs. All she had left was a pair of panties, and she watched morosely as her biggest gamble (and current greatest regret) landed on the pile of her jeans.

"Now, please step back." Was SA Earp's voice a bit shaky? Nicole couldn't tell. She stepped out of the straps and away. "Calamity." The dog stood up, tail up. "Search." Nicole cursed internally.

Predictably, the dog sniffed, sniffed, and sniffed.... and then zeroed in on Nicole's discarded 'equipment' and sat. Nicole cursed internally, but tried to keep the disappointment and alarm off of her face. She'd failed.

"Ma'am," There was triumph in SA Earp's tone, damn her. "You can put your jeans back on, but only your jeans. Then turn and face the wall.”

Nicole swallowed the urge to try to explain her way past this and did as she was told. She had lost, and now she had to pay the price.

Nicole determinedly didn't shiver when the cuffs were placed on her wrists and sat, dejectedly on a chair, as the 'evidence' was bagged. She'd spent HOURS making it look perfect, only to be foiled by a damn dog.

When SA Earp told her to get up, she did so, and was frogmarched past security, past whispering, staring people, out the door to a waiting DEA vehicle.

Several hours later, after a mortifying couple of hours in the same room with the panting architect of her demise, Nicole rested her head on the metal table, wishing for a cup of coffee.

Nicole hadn't spoken since the arrest, and SA Earp had given up on her thirty minutes prior. Her hands were still cuffed in front of her, although they'd had the decency not to cuff her to the ring in the middle of the table.

They were probably cutting her precious creation open at that very moment and crowing at the purity of the stuff she'd laboriously crammed inside. Nicole sighed for the hundredth time. Such a waste of her brilliance. Why did it have to end like this?

The door opened.

Nicole sat back in her seat, watching three people file into the room: SA Earp, a small smile on her professional mien; a big man with dark eyes, looking pleased; and a guy with lanky hair and a really outdated handlebar mustache, also looking overly pleased with himself.

"So, Earp, you nabbed a drug smuggler on your first day." The big man boomed and clapped her on the back, the move showing the muscle beneath his suit. To her credit, SA Earp didn't stumble, though she did sway forward. "Good work!"

SA Earp said, "Thank you, sir!"

Nicole scowled.

The second man, the lanky one, twitched his mustache at her, his blue eyes shining as the corners crinkled. "She got you good, Haught."

Nicole sighed. "I know, I know. It was _such_ a good idea, though!"

SA Earp froze, looking between them. She blurted, "What?!"

Nicole elaborated to her boss, even as she relished the baffled looks Earp was giving them all. "I even made my own MOLD for it, Doc! It took me ages, I put the stash in while the silicone was still setting. Please tell me I get points for that, at least?"

SA Earp's mouth hung open as she looked between Nicole and Doc. The big guy, who must have been Senior Special Agent Dolls, cleared his throat, pulling Nicole back from what would have been a continuing reiteration of the effort she'd put into her role.

SSA Dolls said, "Special Agent Earp, do you remember our discussion about the cross-agency task force with the FBI to prevent drug smuggling through domestic airplane travel?" SA Earp nodded dumbly.

Dolls continued, "We decided to have a little... competition, between the FBI and the DEA. You performed admirably, SA Earp, and defeated the FBI's _best_ " he eyed Nicole, putting some emphasis on the word, "scheme."

Nicole huffed. If SA Earp hadn't had her dog, she’d have made it through without a hiccup. But that was the point, wasn't it? She smiled at the dumbstruck Special Agent. "Good catch!"

"You, this was, all that, your giant– that was a game?" SA Earp sounded offended, aghast, a little angry, but then pulled her admirable self-control back out and nodded at her boss. "Um. Thank you."

Dolls gave a slight smile. "You deserve it, and you'll get a gift card to Shorty's for winning our friendly competition.” He clasped his hands, a small smirk twisting his lips. “Also, I'm happy to introduce you to your new FBI partner: Special Agent Haught." He gestured at Nicole.

SA Earp's jaw snapped shut with an audible click. Then she said, " _What_?!"

Nicole gave SA Earp a small wave with her cuffed hands. "Hello! I'm Nicole. I'd shake your hand, but," she shrugged, "I'm a little tied up at the moment."

The appalled look on Earp's face was just precious. Nicole tried, she really tried, not to grin, but she was helpless against just one more pun. "I hope you don't have any _hard_ feelings about how we met?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Later, the most dysfunctional partners in existence try to have a conversation:
> 
> Waverly: "Your absolute best idea was to stick contraband inside a custom dildo and then WEAR it as a strAP-On?!"
> 
> Nicole: "It almost worked, if not for you meddling kids!"
> 
> Waverly: "You're only 6 years older than me! And between us YOU are the child!!"
> 
> Nicole: "Noooo, Calamity's the baby, aren't you sweetie, yes."
> 
> Calamity: *pants happily* "Woof!"
> 
> Waverly: "Urghhhhhhh!"


	4. Cellular service (top)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicole's stuck in the cop shop on an icy evening, but she can still warm Waverly up from afar with a little technological assistance.

Nicole sighs and runs her hand through her hair, heedless of how the curls poof and frizz out from the rough treatment. There's no one to see it, anyway. It's closing time for the Sheriff's office, and the streets are empty, the skies dark and gray.

"Damn," she mutters.

It had been snowing all day. Purgatory's plows were keeping up until it started to ice, but now the roads are impassible to all but the most winterized vehicles. Nicole cannot, will not, be absent when she's one of the few people able to get to those in need tonight.

Nicole dials Waverly.

"Hey baby," Waverly chirps, warm and eager, "are you on the way home? I was just about to stick dinner in the oven."

Nicole winces. "Waverly, I'm so sorry, I really want to be there, but the roads are iced in and–"

"And you've gotta drive the Sheriff's Tank." The resignation in her voice is clear.

The 'Sheriff's Tank' (Waverly's name) is a winter vehicle. If someone needs to be dug out of the ice or snow or be taken to the hospital, it's Nicole's job, along with fire and EMS, to get to them and keep them safe.

And it’s going to keep Nicole from her romantic dinner date with the love of her life. The first romantic dinner date they were going to have in _weeks._

Nicole sighs into the phone. "Yeah. I've gotta stay overnight. I'd have called it earlier, but I was hoping..."

"I understand, duty calls right? I'll put everything in the fridge and we can do this another night."

"I'm so sorry, baby."

After she gets off the phone, Nicole paces back to her office and sits with a sigh behind the big desk in her empty department, ready to wait for the calls to roll in.

At 11:30 PM, Nicole’s cellphone rings.

Nicole smiles at Waverly's name, knowing that her girlfriend is calling to say goodnight, and answers. "Hey, baby."

"Hey. How's it going?" Waverly asks.

"Not too bad, we've only had a couple calls and the fire department handled them. No emergencies yet!"

"That's good." Something shuffles on the line, and Nicole makes an educated guess. "You in bed, baby?"

Nicole wishes she was there with her, warm and cozy after a nice dinner with candles and conversation. Maybe there would have been some canoodling afterward, soft and loving.

"Yeah." Waverly's voice is small, soft, tired or maybe a little sad. "I wish you were here to warm me up."

Nicole’s heart hurts. "Oh, baby, you know I wish I was there too. Is the heater working?"

Nicole is seized with a pang of worry. Waverly is nothing if not stoic sometimes and it's not unheard of for the Homestead to malfunction…

Waverly’s words are a balm to Nicole’s concern. "Yeah, you know me, just get cold easily. I just want my bonus blanket."

Nicole hums and relaxes, a grudge building at the snow that is keeping her against her will.

Then, she gets an idea.

It's a terrible, wonderful, ridiculous idea. But no, she shouldn't. She's at her place of work, where she is the _boss._ No, it's completely inappropriate.

And she's absolutely going to do it.

Nicole purrs into the phone. "I could still help warm you up."

There's a pause on the line. Nicole imagines Waverly, a sleepy, tiny woman under a veritable pile of blankets, blinking slowly and trying to parse the meaning of that statement. Maybe she'll figure it out, or maybe Nicole will lead her to it. Both ideas are interesting.

"And how," Waverly's voice is more awake, flavored with curiosity and a bit of daring, "would you do that from all the way in town?"

Nicole smiles into her empty office, smiles at the thought of Waverly figuring out what she means, shifting in the bed, ready for Nicole.

"Well first, I'll ask you what you're wearing. Gotta make sure my girl is protected from the cold, you know."

Waverly has an assortment of nightwear, but she always claims that she's warmer the less she wears, even if she freezes her butt off on the way to the bathroom. Nicole doesn’t know how her girl survived the Homestead’s attic room before she had stolen an assortment of Nicole’s slippers and sweatshirts to wear around on particularly cold mornings.

There's a shuffle on the line, then Waverly veritably purrs back. "Why, Sheriff Haught, that is _such_ an impertinent question! But I'll answer. You of all people should know that blankets work best when they have full contact with bare skin. Are you sure your survival training is up to date?"

Nicole fakes a gasp. "I'll have you know I'm up to date on all of my training, Miss Earp. And I of all people am the best to advise you on your next steps for optimal winter warmth." The humorous bent of their conversation was a bit unexpected, but Nicole always likes to lean into these moments.

"Now that we have re-established my authority on the matter," Nicole begins, "I'll again, what are you wearing?"

"Nothing...except a pair of panties." At Nicole's encouraging silence, Waverly continues, "They're purple and have dancing palm trees on them. And a little lace."

"Good. And the fluffiest blankets in the house are tucked up under your chin?"

"Yes."

"Waverly, I want you to slide one hand up your stomach, nice and slow." Nicole can't hold the Sheriff voice anymore, instead falling into the rough, scratchy tones of arousal.

"Where is it going?" Waverly asks.

Nicole's heart swells with the fact that this is happening, Waverly is gonna let her do this fun, silly thing, this thing that teenagers stuck in their parents' houses do. They're gonna do this together even though she can’t be there tonight in person.

"Your nipple, tease it for me, roll it between your fingers like you do when you're riding my face." That particular memory, of looking up Waverly’s strong body as she clutches the headboard and grinds against Nicole’s mouth, is so strong and fresh that Nicole can almost taste Waverly, smell her, feel her.

"I'm gonna do it the way you do it, if that's ok, I wanna imagine that it's you."

"Uh," Nicole feels those words go straight to her core, clenching and squeezing out an embarassing trickle of moisture, and tries not to squeak, "Oh, please do."

Nicole feels a bit too constrained and loosens her tie with her free hand, unbuttoning two buttons as well. Much better.

Waverly's breath hitches over the line and Nicole runs her tongue over her lips, wishing she could see it. "How's it feel? Talk to me, baby."

"Good, wow, you feel so good. You're sometimes more than I think I can take but," she pauses, her breath heavy, "it's always so good."

Nicole feels a bit braver, goes out on a limb. "I'm touching both nipples, now, pinching, tapping, squeezing them in my fingers, gonna give them both a tug. Do you feel that?"

There's another shuffle over the line and then she hears the tell-tale echo of speakerphone as Waverly says, "Yesss."

Nicole shifts in her chair, the heat of her skin suddenly stifling in an office that was borderline cold a moment before. "I'm gonna knead one of your breasts, now, wrap it in my big, strong, calloused hand and massage it good, until my fingers sink into your skin."

Waverly's answering whine echoes over the line, shivering across Nicole's skin. She tries to picture it, paint it in her mind: Waverly smothered in blankets, hands on both breasts, obediently acting out Nicole's desires on herself.

Nicole licks her lips. "Mm, I wanna touch you, feel how wet you are, baby. Is that ok?"

A disbelieving huff gives Nicole her answer and she chuckles, forging ahead. "I'm trailing the hand that was on your nipple down your skin, dancing across your stomach the way you like when I'm working you up. Spread your legs for me so I can see you, baby, can see where I'm going."

Waverly's voice is ragged, like it always gets when they're making love. "You know exactly where you're going, Nicole, you don't need to see a thing!"

Nicole growls, "I'm gonna smack you on the thigh for that, Waverly, you know I like to look!"

A little _smack_ is audible over the phone.

Nicole freezes for a second, that was _interesting_. But she has a job to do and isn't going to shirk it. "Ahem, keep your legs open, baby, I'm not gonna touch you until you tell me how wet you are. But I will keep teasing your breast, I'm not heartless."

"I can't believe how wet I am, Nicole, you're teasing me."

Nicole gives a thinking "Hmm,” and waits.

Waverly doesn't put up a fight, not anymore. Nicole understands why when she hears the strain in her voice. "I'm, jesus, I'm soaking wet, I think I might leave a wet spot on the bed, Nicole, please touch me!"

Nicole relents, shifting again in her chair to try not to smear more moisture onto her own boxers. It's going to be a close thing for her pants to survive as it is. "Shh, I've got you, I'm sliding my fingers down onto your clit as we speak."

The breathy sounds change, deepening, gaining their own unique timbre as Nicole catches a breathy curse over the line.

"Tell me how you feel," Nicole prompts, "do you want me to put my fingers inside?"

This time the curse is audible. "Fuck, Nicole, that's, I'm so worked up, I don't think I can–"

Nicole knows this cadence, knows from the sound of her voice that Waverly can come in moments if she's left to seek her own orgasm. But Nicole doesn't want this to end too soon.

"Shh, you can, I'm gonna move away from your clit and slide down, right? You're so hungry for me, I wanna feel you inside, push you open and feel how hot and wet you are for me before you come. Can you be good and hold on for me?"

The responding whimper isn't an answer, but then Nicole gets one. "Oh, fuck, Nicole, you feel so good, your fingers are so big and long and curl in just the right way, fuck."

Nicole takes her hand off the arm of her chair – she'd dented the leather with her short, dull nails – and licks her lips again.

Nicole growls, "That's so good, you're so tight around my fingers, so fucking hot Waverly. You look so good spread open, fucking yourself on my hand. You’re so good for holding out long enough for me to get inside. I'm gonna put my thumb down on your clit so you can come for me."

An insistent series of sounds follows, sounds Nicole well knows are the harbingers of Waverly's climax, and she keeps up the praise, picturing the spreading flush across Waverly's chest, the desperate, hungry look she gets in her dark, dark eyes when she knows she's about to come

"I wanna feel you pulse and shiver and come around my fingers. Be good and come for me, Waverly, you're mine, you're beautiful, I love you so much. You're gonna come all over my hand, aren't you?"

"Yes, yesss–" is the only reply Nicole gets, then it's nothing but incomprehensible sounds.

"Fuck, you're so pretty when you come," Nicole murmurs, knowing Waverly won't exactly hear her, not during the come-down, but saying it nonetheless.

A few moments pass, a sigh sounds, then Waverly murmurs back, "Thank you, baby."

Nicole feels warm, inside now as well as outside. Wow, she’s aching, now that she can take notice of her own body.

"You are _so_ welcome," Nicole purrs, glancing at the time. Midnight, past her morning person of a girlfriend's bedtime. "Feeling warmer?"

"Mm," Waverly's sleepy, now, and Nicole thinks she'll fall asleep imminently. "Not as warm as with you, but better."

"Good. Ok to go to sleep, or do you wanna stay on the line?"

"Stay with me? Just until I fall asleep. And stay safe?"

"I will, baby. I love you."

"Love you."

After a few minutes, when Waverly's breathing steadies into sleep, and her breathy, frankly adorable little snore shows up, Nicole ends the call. She feels... good. She might not have been able to come tonight or keep Waverly warm, but she was able to feel close to Waverly despite their ruined romantic getaway.

And now they know that this is a possibility... well. Later.

For now, Nicole goes and uses the facilities to clean herself up (good thing she keeps spare pants at the office!), makes herself a cup of coffee, and settles in for a long night of keeping Purgatory safe with a smile on her face.

After all, there’ll be a warm bed and a warmer girlfriend waiting for her when she gets home in the morning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for any typos, edited this while on cold medicine. God I hope my sinuses open up soon.

**Author's Note:**

> I've got quite a few of these, so they'll be going up as new chapters as time allows. Stay tuned! If you loved it, leave a little love below.
> 
> Come find me on Twitter! [@SmugMischief](https://twitter.com/SmugMischief)


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